Just When I Thought I Loved You
by Shien Shao
Summary: Hermione finds love at Hogwarts! But when an accident sends her reeling in time, she doesn't know when she's ended up, or how to get back. A terrible but romantic betrayal is in store for Hermione Granger. Will she be able to cope?
1. Chapter 1

Thought I'd have a crack at a Harry Potter fic. Tell me what you think.

I decided that this takes place 6th year, and I thought "to hell with the real book, I'm gonna do it my way" So nothing bad that happened in HBP ever happened. Dumbledore's okay, and Harry's not in love with Ginny.

"I love you."

She was ecstatic. She was overjoyed.

Hermione Granger never thought those words would ever mean very much to her.

But she could never have been more wrong.

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It was a beautiful, bright, sunshiny day. As could be predicted, Harry, Ron, and Hermione were sitting on a grassy bank of the lake, enjoying a particularly fine picnic lunch. Each was brooding deep in their own thoughts.

Ron was reflecting on his Quidditch playing. Harry's constant stream of compliments was finally getting to his head. In a very short time, he was deep in a daydream about being the Quidditch captain, and a series of fantastic matches eventually led up to the team manager of the Chudley Cannons begging him to join on, and give them a chance at the World Cup.

Hermione glanced at the glassy eyed goofy grin on Ron's face and smirked.

Harry's thoughts, meanwhile, were quite a bit darker. Sirius' death had wounded a deep part of him. He would never be the same. Around his classmates, he kept up the happy-go-lucky façade, and for the most part, they were none the wiser. He had taken to falling deep in thought often, developing dark shadows that danced across his face. That was, of course, when he thought no one was looking.

Hermione had only seen it three times.

All three had been in the common room, when she bade goodnight to Ron and him. Ron had always fallen asleep snoring over an essay due the next day. Harry acknowledged her with a slight wiggling of the fingers, and turned to face the fire again. He thought she hadn't seen, but she had.

To her, it looked as if he were willing Sirius to come back from the dead, and have his head pop into the fire, so they could resume a long-awaited chat.

She felt sorry for him, she truly did.

It was a blow to her when she heard Sirius had passed, but by no means close to what Harry felt.

He would never talk about it, but she knew there was a cold, numb void in his soul where Sirius had previously occupied.

She desperately wished she could do something to help, but she always knew there was nothing she would ever be able to do for him.

Suddenly, Hermione was shaken out of her reverie by a loud, terrified shouting.

All three looked at each other, and then around them quickly.

When she discovered the source of disruption, she could have laughed.

Neville, it seems, had been leaning too close to the water trying to pet the giant squid, when he had fallen in. Other students outside started to laugh. The squid had taken him in its tentacles, and had him doing a sort of flailing marionette impression. Neville's face burned with embarrassment.

Hermione sighed and grabbed a piece of toast from the leftovers.

"I'll get him."

She walked over to the squid and its prey, and offered the toast to a tentacle that had not wrapped itself around one of Neville's limbs.

"Leave him alone, you."

The squid relented, tossed Neville lightly onto the grass, and submerged within the lake's depths.

She helped him up, and performed a drying charm. "Alright Neville?"

He nodded.

She smiled at him and walked back to her friends. "I think it likes you!" She called after her.

Even Neville laughed weakly.

"C'mon guys, we have to get to Charms."

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"Class! Class! Look at this here! Miss Granger has managed to conjure a perfect dove!'

It was the usual as in any class. Hermione was the first to complete the lesson. She noted many jealous gazes glaring at her white dove, cooing on her shoulder.

"Ten points to Gryffindor! Well done!"

Hermione sat in between her two best friends. Harry had managed to somehow conjure a single black feather ("it's a start!"), which was considerably better than Ron's small pile of soot.

After Professor Flitwick's announcement, the other students renewed their efforts to compete with Hermione.

Ron sighed and put his head on his arms.

Hermione glanced sideways at Harry, and winced as he whipped his wand about. Finally, she couldn't stand it anymore.

"No Harry, like this!"

Without thinking, her hand was over his, guiding him through the brisk swishing motion. She thought nothing of it, that is, until she looked up at his face.

It was completely red.

Quickly, she withdrew her hand, and busied herself with looking up the next assignment.

They hardly spoke the rest of the day, and it passed without incident.

All three were in the common room, trying to cram in some homework before dinner.

Ron, at ease and relaxed, had no idea of the tension between his two friends. Harry was facing a window, and Hermione was bowed low over her parchment.

The minutes crawled by like snails. Hermione was trying very hard to focus on her potions essay, and nothing else. She ended up failing miserably. She pretended to scratch her quill inconspicuously, and stole glances at her two friends and listened to every tiny noise that Harry made. He might as well have been molded from stone. His eyes were unfocused and there was a frown scribbled across his face.

"I'm starving!" Ron suddenly groaned.

Finally, the dinner bell rang.

"Excellent!"

Ron leapt up and started towards the portrait, but turned and waited hesitantly for the other two.

Harry rose from his chair and raised his eyebrows in a question towards Hermione.

"Oh, no, you two go ahead, I'm not very hungry..."

Ron didn't wait to be told a second time.

Harry, on the other hand...

"So..I'll see you after dinner.."

"Yeah.."

And he left, along with a herd of other Gryffindors.

Only a half a minute and she was alone.

She took a very deep breath, set aside her potions essay, and put her hand up to her heart.

What had just happened?

She was so confused. Certainly she had never had these feelings before. Always, Harry was a brother-figure first, a best friend second, and nothing else. So why now? Why was he blushing?

She longed to be in the library, to search for answers to her questions, but she knew the library couldn't help this time.

She settled to pacing back and forth in front of the fire, biting her lip. After the enchanted rug started to squeak in protest, she settled into her favorite chair, and Crookshanks came out of a corner to leap up onto her lap and purr.

The way Harry had looked at her had opened a whole new door in her life, and she wasn't sure she was ready for it.

It wasn't that late, but already Hermione felt very drained. Since her chair didn't allow much stretching room, she opted to carry Crookshanks onto a soft, suede couch. Lying on her stomach, with Crookshanks on her butt, she held her head in her arms and stared at the fire, trying to decode Harry's mysterious behavior.

'Just for a minute,' she thought drowsily, 'I'll close my eyes'

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Harry did not go immediately back to the common room. He told Ron he needed to do a little research on their Charms homework in the library.

Ron shrugged, but sensed that Harry was in one of his moods again. The dark glint in his eye told Ron he needed to be alone.

"See you later" He waved and walked off to go play wizard chess with Seamus Finnigan.

Harry wandered about the library, looking particularly at the tomes containing information on the dead, afterlife, and immortality.

He knew it was an empty struggle, but he felt as if he just couldn't give up on Sirius. He pulled out every book that might have any information on what he was looking for. As expected, he found nothing useful, nothing that could assure Harry that Sirius wasn't really dead.

Somewhere to his left, he heard Madame Pince clear her throat loudly.

He glanced at his watch, and gave a start. There were nearly ten minutes left until the library closed. Under Pince's vulture-like glare, he put all the books back into their rightful places, and left.

It took him quite a slow time to get back to the common room, and when he finally arrived at the fat lady, she raised her eyebrow at him. "A bit late aren't we?"

He glanced at his watch.

Indeed he was, fifteen minutes after curfew.

"Bowtruckle"

He ignored her statement and she swung open to admit him.

He trudged through the door wearily, bogged down by heavy thoughts.

There were no night owls or late-stayers tonight. The room seemed to be totally empty except for...

And he spotted Hermione, exactly where she had fallen asleep, and with Crookshanks still purring contentedly on her behind. She must have been deep asleep, for Crookshanks was kneading her robes, and occasionally pricking her with his front claws.

As he approached, he gave Crookshanks a scratch behind the ear, and kneeled to where Hermione's face was.

She was fast asleep. Harry shook his head at the amount of work she was doing these days. What with all of her usual workload, and then practically doing his and Ron's homework, she would surely work herself to death.

He took a moment to watch her as she slept. He had never realized just how unique her hair was. It was a little bushy, yes, but there were so many different colors that he had never noticed before. There was a caramel color, and slight reddish browns underneath, blondes and honeys that caught the light on top. At one glance, it all seemed like a bushy mousy mane. Now that he had gotten so close, he realized it was a complicated network of beautiful curls and tendrils.

One particular curl had fallen and was obscuring her eyes. He slowly reached his hand up and brushed it away softly.

He knew he had always cared for Hermione, but these feelings of friendship had expanded into something much more since Sirius had died.

A nasty voice in his head told him that he was desperately searching for someone to fill the void that Sirius had left behind, and that he was latching on to the closest person to him.

A small part of this was true, but a bigger part wasn't.

Ron was perhaps the closest person to Harry, but it just wasn't the same as with Hermione. She was someone he could love.

A sudden thought occurred to him.

Maybe the sudden intensity of feelings towards her in such a short period of time wasn't of his doing. Maybe it was a love potion!

Now he remembered her in Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, admiring the love potions isle along with many other girls that day.

But, as quickly as the thought had come, it vanished. It was utterly preposterous! Besides, if he was under the influence of love potion, he wouldn't have had any thoughts about suspecting it.

With a nod of his head, he acknowledged that these feelings were all his own.

So why had he chosen to hide them?

Only the most obvious reason, of course.

Voldemort attacked his enemies by first attacking all that are close to them. In Harry's case, he had taken away his parents, his godfather, and had even tried to take a stab at the Weasleys.

No. Hermione was definitely not safe.

He couldn't even imagine how he would feel if Voldemort had gotten his hands on Hermione. That's why he had to stay away. The only way to protect her would be to distance himself from her. He had to learn self control and indifference. He cursed himself inwardly for blushing in Charms class. That wouldn't happen again.

Harry sighed deeply, and brushed his fingertips lightly across her cheek.

"Goodnight Hermione." He said, barely above a whisper. "I hope you'll never know."

He got up and walked towards the boys' staircase. He stopped with his foot at the first step.

"I love you."

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Long after Harry had gone to bed, Hermione snapped her eyes wide open. She brought her hands up to her mouth, her brain churning furiously.

She had awoken the second he had come in; she heard the creak of the portrait swing open. Wisely she feinted sleep, by keeping her eyes shut and her breathing even.

She could not control her heartbeat though. It had beaten faster and faster with every step he took closer.

When he leaned in and touched her hair, she could smell him. It was a pleasant aroma, which reminded her of a warm, friendly forest.

Her cheek burned where he had touched her. She wanted to do anything she could to let him know she was awake, but she felt absolutely paralyzed.

A curious thought came to her. Why would he hope she never knew? But the answer came immediately. It was Voldemort. She just knew that Harry was trying to keep her safe by keeping her from being too close to him. She sighed. Why does it feel so sad?

"Why does it feel so sad?" She asked Crookshanks. He turned his ugly, squashed face to her and meowed.

It took her a long time of combing through her hair with her fingers and staring into the fire until she finally found the answer to that one.

She loved him too.

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So how was it?

Thanks for reading. Now please review and let me know if this story is worth adding more.


	2. Chapter 2

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Thank you to all those who reviewed.

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It had been like this for some time now.

Harry had been the perfectly friendly, easygoing person he was before. It was two months already, and Hermione noticed that the little incident her and Harry had in charms was completely forgotten.

Hermione could name the reason for his oddly normal behavior at the drop of a hat, and she certainly understood, but somehow, it strained at her heart just a little bit. By now, she wished she had been bold enough to tell Harry she had been awake during his confession, but every time she looked at him, that familiar tugging sensation pulled her away from her intention.

The classroom was quiet.

Abnormally quiet.

And everyone was looking at her.

"Miss Granger?"

Suddenly, everything came back to her in a flood.

"You would not know the proper incantation to reveal an animagus?" Professor McGonagall asked her with her eyebrows raised.

Hermione's mind raced. She recalled the fiasco during her third year in the shrieking shack, when Sirius had said that spell to Wormtail...but she just couldn't remember the words. They were too far out of reach for her troubled mind.

"No ma'am, I wouldn't." She covered her face with her hands in burning shame.

Professor McGonagall was taken aback. She swiftly turned to the class.

"Well!" She pronounced with flaring nostrils. "If Miss Granger doesn't know the answer, then I doubt any of you would. You lot had better study harder if you want to make acceptable grades this year!"

Hermione fell right back into dreamland, as Professor McGonagall wrote complex notes and figures on the board, and the class erupted into a frenzy of scratching and scribbling.

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"Hi Hagrid!" Hermione exclaimed brightly.

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Finally, it was Christmas. Ill feelings were forgotten, and homework was lightened, as the whole castle settled into a cheerful holiday spirit.

Hagrid, as usual, was hauling in the twelve giant Christmas trees for the Great Hall. In the midst of her troubles (she was having more problems paying attention in class) she had taken to being in Hagrid's company quite a bit. In her opinion, it quite made up to him the fact that she didn't take his class this year.

She would perhaps visit thrice a week, and mostly during Ron and Harry's Quidditch practices. After a few cups of tea, and politely showing him how to bake softer tastier things the muggle way, she would discuss the countless number of creatures he'd seen and dealt with since he was a kid. With every creature, he had a fantastic story to tell, and she would listen in rapture for hours. In some strange way, she found his genuine kindness very refreshing.

It was also wonderful for Hagrid. Since Harry and Ron had neglected to visit him, he was lonely with just Buckbeak and Fang to talk to.

Hermione rose from a table she had been sitting at and approached Hagrid.

"Hagrid?"

The enormous man was hidden by the even bigger tree he carried. The tree stopped, and Hagrid drew in a few puffing breaths.

"Would you like some help with the trees?"

Hagrid peered over the shoulder of his moleskin coat, and beamed when he saw her small frame.

"Well...I am kinda tired o' these things...yeah. That would be a right nice thing. Thanks 'Ermione!"

He pushed the thick trunk off his shoulder and it fell, shaking the ground slightly as it thudded with a boom. "Wingardium Leviosa." She pointed her wand at the tree and it rose wobbly. Once she was sure it was steady, she advanced to where Hagrid had pointed out its destination, and flipping it vertically, she set it down neatly in the magicked patch of earth that was to receive it. For good measure, she made the roots grow out as well.

"Couldn't ter done a better job meself!" He clapped her on the back, and she had to throw out her arms to break her fall.

He looked around and spotted her on the floor.

"What're yeh doin' down there Hermione? We got more trees to get!"

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After Hermione had asked him to wait a minute, (she needed her winter things) they set off to a patch of tall pines a little further than his hut. Hermione particularly enjoyed the look of being covered in snowflakes.

There was at least a foot of snow already on the grounds, and more dustings flurrying down from above. Hermione didn't mind the cold so much after she had put a water resistance charm on her pants and shoes. (She had also read about a charm that she had wanted to try, and lined the inside of Hagrid's boots with a luxurious and toasty mink fur, which he warmly appreciated.)

They worked well together. He would fell the trees, and bring them out of the forest, where she would charm them into the air. Since Hagrid didn't have as much strenuous work to do, he was quite happy to chat with her.

The novelty of being daintily dusted with snowflakes quickly wore off, as Hermione decided she really didn't fancy being wet and freezing anymore. She conjured a vast umbrella that floated above them both all the way back to the doors of the castle.

This was their third tree of twelve, and for lack of anything interesting to say, Hermione lapsed into silence. This apparently was not the best thing to do. It only set her off thinking about that night in the common room, and Harry, and them being together, and if it could work at all.

She gave Hagrid a sidelong glance, which meant she had to tilt her head up a bit. She knew that Hagrid and Harry had been particularly close. She supposed he could be considered Harry's third father figure, after Sirius. Hagrid really did love Harry. Hermione had never known why they were so close, nor would she probably ever know. It made her smile to think that Hagrid would adopt him in a heartbeat if he could.

After all, Hagrid was probably the most easily accessed person who knew as much about Harry as Professor Dumbledore did, and would most likely tell her any details she required without even realizing it. Well, what the hey, trying will wield more than idling. She did feel a slight twinge of guilt for using Hagrid in such a manner, but she was equally frustrated with her lack of knowledge on Harry Potter.

But, to her surprise, he had a one eyebrow raised sort of glance cast down at her.

"Alright Hermione, spit it. I know when yeh've got troubles by now."

Was she that transparent?

Obviously so.

"Hagrid?"

"Hmm?"

"Has Harry seemed a little distant lately?"

...a moment's silence...and another

And then Hagrid heaved a very deep and very sad sigh, and took another moment to collect his thoughts.

"Ar. 'E's bin through a lot fer a lad his age. Yeh just gotta expect 'im not ter be completely normal all th'time. He's seen a right lot more o' summat kids, or anyone else even, should never see."

She knew, and she was partially expecting that answer.

"Yeh just gotta give 'im time. Time teh heal. Tha's all we can hope fer."

The sort of answer she knew was the only one to explain Harry.

She nodded. She didn't really feel like inducing more from him, so she left the matter alone.

They continued to bring in the trees, one by one. Hermione amused Hagrid by conjuring the animals of his stories into little, playful snow models, of which he enjoyed, since he had delightfully insisted that Chimaeras do actually romp and play like that.

But, as expected, darkness gradually fell, and they had to part. Hermione muttered about homework, and Hagrid said something about "fixin' up summat fer Fang".

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"Harry! Hey Harry!"

He brushed the long black locks out of his hair at looked up toward the voice shouting his name.

Harry cast an apprehensive look on his face.

Ron tried to look like nothing was wrong as he trudged across the Great Hall to the Gryffindor table. Despite his blotched face, girls all along the table tried to engage him in conversation, but he gave them a single sultry glance and they turned quickly back around to form huddled groups, whispering and worrying about whether he had taken a girlfriend or not.

"What's up mate?" Harry asked him, afraid for the answer.

Only now did he notice his friend had been hiding something behind his back.

Ron produced a crumpled piece of paper shakily, and shoved it into Harry's hands.

As Harry read the script scribbled across the page, his face went from worried, into a frown, and then straight into a downright scowl.

I, Ron Weasley, Gryffindor keeper, hereby denounce my position on

the Gryffindor Quidditch team due to being a sorry excuse for a

Quidditch player and having all exercises and practices end up

accounting for rubbish in games. I quit.

As the scowl deepened, Ron grew more worried. Harry took a deep breath through his nostrils, and crumpled the paper up (also he whipped out his wand and sent it zooming out of the castle window).

"How many times do I have to tell you? I'm NOT going to let you go!"

Instead of shouting back as usual, Ron's shoulders slumped in utter defeat, and his answer came in barely above a whisper.

"I'm just no good, Harry. We'll never win with me on the team."

Harry was at his wit's end by now. But, because it was his best friend in front of him, he managed to ungrit his teeth and relax his tense muscles.

Harry sighed, and put a hand on Ron's shoulder. "You will get better if you practice, and get rid of that ruddy attitude. You just have to be positive, and work at it. How about just the two of us practice tomorrow night. I think everyone else is doing fine on their own, and we can go over everything you think you stink at."

Ron glanced up at him uncertainly. "You sure that's what you want?"

Harry looked up at the cloudy enchanted ceiling with a grim, but determined look on his face.

"Yes. That is what I want."

Ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

After Harry had managed to marginally lift Ron's spirits, they sat down together at dinner to discuss tactics and ploys, using Ron's favorite team, The Chudley Cannons, to keep his interest and enthusiasm up.

"Okay, so, remember that Wronski Feint at the World Cup?"

"Yeah. What about it?"

"I want you to re-invent it. Make it look like you accidentally left one of the rings open, but be in position to snatch the quaffle as it comes nearer."

Ron mulled it over in his mind, picturing the effect.

"Alright then."

"Okay. Now pass me some Shepherd's pie, I'm starved."

Almost ten minutes after their Quidditch talk, they noticed that Hermione hadn't come down for dinner. It was starting to be one of her main habits.

"I wonder where she is." Said Ron nonchalantly. "Do you know?" He turned to Harry.

For a long few seconds, Harry's gut clenched in horror as he thought of that one night in the common room, when he had erringly professed his feelings to her. But she was asleep! Harry was sure of it. Or was he? His throat dried up and his hands became sluggish as he wondered if that was the reason she was avoiding him.

He blinked a few times, and looked at Ron innocently. "I dunno. Girls are weird like that."

Ron grunted in agreement, and the two buried their faces in treacle.

The end of dinner found Harry uncomfortable, nervous, and wracked with indecision. Ron's innocent statement had completely derailed Harry's thoughts of Quidditch and concern for Ron.

It was exhausting, to say the least, always worrying now about Hermione. It was like wasted time. He knew in the pit of his heart that he couldn't allow himself to get attached romantically with anyone until he defeated Voldemort (he was trying not to think of if he wouldn't be able to).

But it was so hard to resist. She had grown softer over the years: her hair, her face, her scent...and he knew her every little mannerism. The way she rolled her eyes, or tossed her hair, or rubbed her face from fatigue, it was all second nature to him.

He could picture everything about her by simply closing his eyes.

That night, Harry took an extra long time to get up from the Gryffindor table. He wanted to wait until the jostling, noisome crowd subsided. If she was up in the common room, he would want to try and stay away long enough so that she would go to bed. He didn't want any sort of confrontations tonight.

It seemed like it took forever though. He sat at the table until the only people left were the gluttons and their glutton friends. Finally, the table was cleared magically for the night, leaving the bare wood gleaming.

He sighed. He would finally have to make the long trek back to the common room. He glanced at his watch. It was nearly nine. Well, surely she wouldn't still be doing homework if she had skipped dinner, would she? Harry shook his head. He knew Hermione. She would stay up as late as she could, trying to get in every little detail that she could possibly fit in.

Slowly he pushed himself up and headed toward the stairs.

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It was late. Very, very late. Hermione sat in her favorite armchair near the fire, gnawing her nails nervously. And as she sat, every possible reason of why Harry hadn't come up yet danced through her head mockingly.

Maybe he suspected that she wasn't asleep during his secret confession. Maybe he just wants to stay away from her. Maybe he's out there snogging some girl. Maybe he'd rather get in trouble than be near her.

Too many maybes. She ran her hands tiredly down her face and sighed. In her lap sat a heavy herbology book, from which she was taking notes for her next essay on the Spitting Snapdragon. She glared at the book.

"Stupid book. Why do you have to be so smart?'

Her vision was starting to blur from fatigue.

"If only Harry was a book. Maybe then could I finally read him."

She sat the book on the floor.

She sat in her chair.

She sat.

And she waited...

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Oh my Gosh, I am so sorry for neglecting you guys. I know excuses won't compensate, but I'll only say that my AP Studio Art class is really getting stressful. I'm just going through a lot of problems at home also.

But good news! I got accepted into my first choice college! Hurrah.

This is definitely a transition chapter. I promise the next chapter will knock your knickers off! Arg! It's just so frustrating because I know already how I want this story to end.

So I need to know, do you guys want a full blown, novel-like story here, or do you want a shortish ficlet? I really don't know how long to make it, so I'm deciding to leave it to the whim of my readers.

Cast your vote in your next review please.

Thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

Heys guys…

Um wow, it's been practically forever. I'm in college now..getting old..

So I had a writer's block, and dropped interest in this story, and finally recently got back into the site. So, here's what's happening. There seems to be way too many Hermione time-turner stories for me to even have some semblance of originality.

So, sorry for such a long wait, but I'm going to remove this story and start fresh, with a different idea.


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